Escape Attempt 49
by Batmanskipper
Summary: Two officers stuck in a POW camp have very different outlooks on life. Skipper has attempted to escape 47 times, and is only still alive due to Kowalski's unique relationship with the commandant's sister. However the arrival of a new prisoner and a simultaneous departure means that 49 will be their final attempt.
1. Corporal Smith and Private Jack Knife

**After reading krazy4kowalski's Behind the Chain-Link Fence I was inevitably curious to watch Stalag 17. Well, this is kind of inspired by both. Anyway, to answer two questions that you will undoubtedly ask: Private will be appearing and Rico will have a more important part in future chapters.**

The prisoner was half dragged through the spotless hallway. He was perfectly capable of walking, but if it annoyed the guards even slightly, it was worth trying. Usually ticking off people who had the power of life and death over you wasn't exactly strategic, but they'd probably already made up their minds on what to do with him, and it wouldn't be pretty.

"Doc, prisoner 113417 has been processed!" One of his guards shouted. The commandant in the other room looked up from his desk, adjusted his mechanical eye, a triumphant smile on his face.

"Has he been searched?"

"Yes doc."

"Search him again," the commandant stated, adjusting his eye again. The phantom pains always started when the man who'd taken his eye and his dreams was near, "he is very good at hiding deadly little gadgets."

"Get your hands offa me!" An angry voice shouted through the door. A few seconds later the scuffle ended.

"We found a couple knives and a few explosives on him doc," The guard reported, "No idea how they got past the first search."

"Bring him in," the door opened, and the prisoner stumbled in, his sapphire blue eyes flashing angrily, "well, well, well, pen-gu-in. I assume this was not how you pictured our second meeting."

"How's the test piloting going?" Prisoner 113417 smirked.

"I was the best pilot in my wing until you took out my eye," Blowhole replied crisply with a withering glare.

"A terrible shame," the prisoner mocked, "I'm not too bad myself, we could have gone a few rounds and settled all of this."

"It doesn't matter," Blowhole brushed off the insult, eyeing the prisoner, still smirking, "_you_ will be staying here a very long time." At this the prisoner was surprised, so much so that his curiosity forced him to blurt out so dangerous a question:

"I know this is the real world, but maybe you should take a hint or two from the movies. If you bore the good guy to pieces with an evil scheme he eventually escapes."

"Yes well, due to some annoying pencil pushers I am not allowed to automatically end you," blowhole sneered, "believe me, wiping Geneva off the map is quite high up on my list of revenges."

"Well maybe after I send you a telegram telling you just how wonderful the weather back in the US of A is you can get around to doing just that." The prisoner liked trying to sound like a promotional slogan. Blowhole hated those.

"I doubt that, pen-gu-in. You will be kept under very close watch. Remember," Blowhole smiled deviously, "if you try to escape, well, you're in my jurisdiction."

"And when the war's over, you'll be in mine."

* * *

Corporal Smith trudged through the mud, staring into the grey, bleak horizon as he and his fellow prisoners marched back from the mine. His back ached, though his technical knowledge had gotten him a relatively easy job, and he was soaked to the skin with muddy water after annoying one of the 'lobsters'. On that matter, Smith looked up to see one of the aforesaid guards leaving the largest wooden structure in the compound, which used to be the commandant's quarters, but he'd given them up for his visiting sister, of which he was completely enamoured. 3...2...1...

"Smith!" the guard shouted, exactly on cue, Smith's head turned in acknowledgement, rolling his eyes slightly.

"Her majesty requests my presence, again?" Smith replied sarcastically.

"Miss Blowhole would be honoured by your presence at dinner," The lobster reported, just as bored of the same speech as Smith. It was a little game between the two if they could always ask at exactly the same time. Showed the state of their social lives, "I'd take it. Miss Blowhole went hunting this afternoon and shot a couple of nice pheasants."

"Well I'm afraid you'll have to once again tell her that I cannot bear to tear myself away from my geological specimens," Smith motioned sarcastically to his mud soaked clothing, "Rare muddius maximus."

"She instructed me to inform you of the opportunity of a hot bath and a mug of cocoa."

"You know my answer." Smith continued his trudge back towards the barracks. A hot bath sounded good to someone in his position, but he'd done the math: if he became the commandant's 'pet' life would be living hell for him in the barracks, and Miss Blowhole would only be staying so long. Anyway, it was against his principles.

* * *

Prisoner 113417 tossed his blanket down on his bunk. That was when he looked up.

"Kowalsk...!" He exclaimed, gaping at the familiar face.

"Shhh...!" The man snapped.

"I swear they commissioned you in..."

"You have me confused with someone else." Smith announced loudly enough for the rest of the room to hear, "alright, shows over, folks. I'll run the checks on the new guy," he looked back at the newest addition, and continued in a quieter, somewhat sadder tone, "Got you too, did they Skipper?"

"Yeah. Guess I shoulda shaved before I tried to sneak out a town as one a those cabaret girls," Skipper replied, "What the hell are you doing in an enlisted camp calling yourself Smith?"

"What are you, _captain_?" Kowalski got a look that distinctly told him: you first. Well, he was higher ranking, "long story. Essentially, when they took me, I couldn't let them know it was me due to the project I was working on, you know, national security and all that. I grabbed my late guard's dog tag and now I'm Corporal Smith. Your turn."

"The details are classified," skipper blushed slightly. Then his voice lowered to barely a whisper, "so when are we getting out of here?" It was then he noticed what he had originally mistaken for fatigue was now unmistakably depression.

"Never." Kowalski sighed.

"Ow!" Kowalski rubbed the side of his face where Skipper's hand had impacted.

"What kind of talk is that?" Skipper exclaimed, "We're Penguins! Well, I am, you quit to do your sciency stuff, but once a Penguin, always a Penguin. We never give up."

"You can't escape," Kowalski denied gloomily, "Especially not you. Blowhole's just waiting for a chance to put together a firing squad. Don't give him the excuse."

"If I stick around here, Geneva convention or not, I'm going to get a knife in my back!" Skipper argued, "and it's only a matter of time until Blowhole finds out you were the mastermind behind the plasma…"

"Shhhh!" Kowalski interrupted. He looked behind him, calling the attention of the man across the room, "Rico?"

"'eah?"

"Tell… Sorry, I didn't catch your name."

"Knife," Skipper introduced himself, "Private Jack Knife," Noticing the smirks from around the room, he scowled, "hey, no jokes about the name!"

"Rico, tell Private Knife about Manfredi and Johnson." The jokes ceased and the atmosphere of the room went sober.

The man referred as Rico walked towards the centre off the room, the crowds clearing the area.

"'Ey tried ta 'scape." Rico stated, holding Skipper's attention with an intense glare, "Go' all 'a way out ta th' perimeter." Rico motioned to a spot of ground visible from the barracks, "Bang!" he suddenly shouted, and making a sound like the escape siren motioned that the lights swung onto them, "Ma'fredi," Rico motioned as if he was being shot from all sides by machine guns, before collapsing to the floor, "Johnson," Rico shook his head sadly, getting back up, "'e had coupla fireworks on 'im. Sparks from on' 'a da bullets set 'em off." At this Rico raced around the room as if trying to blow out imaginary fireworks attached to his foot, before throwing himself to the floor as if they'd exploded, "an' tha's what happened ta Ma'fredi and Johnson. They was jus' the most recent."

"Amazingly enough it didn't kill either of them," Kowalski added, "Blowhole dragged their bleeding bodies, Johnson missing his leg, Manfredi missing just about everything else into his lab and they've never been seen again."

"Dinner is served!" Bada interrupted, and instead of the usual big metal wash basin that usually brought their dinner, individual buckets were handed in, "Oh, and special announcement: anyone who touches anything but their own dinner will be shot. No idea why. Owens!"

"Yup." The man replied grabbing his bucket.

"Bolton…!"

"This is out of the ordinary." Kowalski muttered to Skipper.

"Oh, we got a special message for you," Bing announced, noticing Kowalski, "your stalker wants to know how you like your pheasant…"

"The answer's no." Kowalski stated over the continues drone of the food being handed out. There had to be a more efficient system. Perhaps he could design one, but then anything that intelligent might blow his cover.

"… Knife?!" Bada shouted out, holding up the last bucket.

"'s me." Skipper replied, grabbing the bucket. However, when he looked inside, it was empty, "Hey, what are you tryin' ta pull?!" Skipper shouted angrily.

"Beats me," Bada replied, "we was just told to give that to you."

"Blowhole!" Skipper growled, storming towards the door and out into the mud. It was an idiotic and reckless move as Kowalski shouted after him, but Skipper didn't care. Three sharp taps on the door later, and he was back in Blowhole's office.

"Well, well, well, Pen-gu-in, what an unexpected pleasure," Blowhole greeted with a ridiculously sugary smile, "What can I do for you?"

"My rations," Skipper snapped, "what happened to them?"

"Are they not in your mess tin?" Blowhole asked. Skipper tossed the metal bucket onto the desk.

"See for yourself." Blowhole mockingly inspected the bucket, and gasped with faux shock, before the expression morphed to a smile.

"We are having some supply problems here," Blowhole replied, "I previously could only afford to give the men their most basic nutritional requirements, however with your arrival… well, since you so generously volunteered to forego your rations for the good of your fellow prisoners until the supply train arrived…"

"So you're trying to starve me to death?" Skipper interrupted sarcastically, "Real brilliant. What about the pencil pushers?"

"It is not my fault a certain somebody blew up the bridge on the supply train's route," Blowhole replied innocently, "Of course, if you'd rather someone else take the decreased rations…"

"The arrangement's fine." Skipper spat.

"I thought you would say that. Well our business is concluded. I hope you make it back to your barracks before curfew…" But Skipper had already left.

"Don't do anything stupid, Skipper." A familiar voice warned. Skipper looked back to see 'Corporal Smith' keeping pace with him as he walked back through the mud.

"You may not have heard the conversation, but he intends to starve me to death." Skipper replied.

"Don't worry, Skipper, there's a whole underground black market," Kowalski countered, "I can trade with one of the other barracks, they aren't being rationed…"

"It's your duty to escape, you know." Skipper interrupted.

"Oh to hell with patriotism, Skipper, I'd rather live!" Kowalski automatically realised the connotations of the outburst, "Listen, Skipper, my men left me to die, I don't owe them anything."

"Well my men went down fighting, or as best they could, considering the circumstances. Even strangled one of the lobsters with his silk stockings. Call it survivor's guilt, but I outa either be with them, or carrying their banner into battle."

"Skipper, don't you think it would annoy Blowhole more to have you right here, and not be able to exact revenge?" Kowalski pleaded.

"I guess," Skipper relented surprisingly quickly, "Alright Kowalski, at least for tonight, I won't try anything."

"Thanks, Skipper," Kowalski smiled with relief as the two picked up their pace on the way back to the barracks, "So, I will be able to keep my top bunk…?"

"No."


	2. Escape Attempt 1

**0500**

Kowalski opened one eye, glancing cautiously around the room. The men were all sound asleep in their bunks, and the low murmur of snoring – barracks 3 were well known for the relative quiet as the many attempts to be transferred from other barracks testified – was the only noise save the occasional footfall of the guards. Everything was perfectly normal, which was what bothered him.

Both blue eyes opened and Kowalski sprang from his bed. It was too quiet for Skipper to be in the room, especially as at 0400 he should have been dragged from his bed and forced to do jumping jacks. Immediate he threw back the thin blanket only to find several tactically arranged pillows. His next step after that was the escape tunnel beneath his bunk. Sure enough, close inspection showed the hinges had been recently oiled, though the tunnel supposedly hadn't been touched in months.

"That science despising, probable result ignoring… bloody idiot!"

* * *

**2000 the previous evening**

"I am always missing her, you know, my dear Carlotta," Julian mourned, "My beautiful Carlotta."

"We've all got our sweethearts back home, Julian," Skipper replied, though he had to say, he hadn't found another since Arlene hadn't turned out to be who he thought she was. Lola, well, she was probably long gone, never to see him again etc., so he didn't count her.

"Oh, she is not being back home," Julian corrected. He motioned behind him to where Rico was seated on his bed, brushing something, probably his boots, intently, "We met her de same day. We were both on the leave, but… but…" Skipper was beginning to regret buying Julian all those drinks from Archie's 'still, but hopefully once the girl talk was over he might get something out of him, "I fought bravely for her hand, but de crazy guy's fist was more powerful than my majestic left hook," Rico stood up, admiring his work, which to Skipper's surprise, were not his boots but a plastic doll with blond hair and a pink dress, "See, he mocks me! Flaunts her before my very eyes because I can never have her!"

"You're in love with a toy?!" Skipper blurted out, "Kowalski's right, you are off your rocker!"

"Wait, who is dis Kowalski, and why does he think I am not on my rocker? I am not even owning a 'rocker'?"

"Um…" Skipper realised he'd said more than he should have, "Just one of the boys back at the base. Anyway," Skipper lowered his voice to barely a whisper, though desperately fighting to keep his tone civil, "I'm told, that 'round here, you're the guy you go to if there's something you want that doesn't come from the Red Cross."

"Me? No, Smith is de guy you talk to," Julian stood up, and shouted across the room: "Hey, Smithy, de new guy wants to…?!"

"Sorry, Kowal… I mean Smith, its fine!" Skipper shouted back.

"But I thought you were saying you…"

"Due to a small disagreement with Smith, I have to use you. You're supposed to be the second best in the procurement trade." Julian just looked at him blankly.

"I am having no idea what you are talking about."

"Yeah, then I'm Santa Clause. I may be new, but…"

"You are de Santa Clause in disguise?!" Julian gasped, making Skipper stifle a laugh, "Be giving me de presents now!" Skipper dodged a wild grab for his 'invisible' bag of presents.

"I am wanting de presents too!" A shrill voice screamed, and suddenly a prisoner, probably several inches below the minimum height and thin as a rake leapt on him from the bunk above, big brown adorable eyes wild and feral. Of course it took only seconds for Skipper to throw him off, though by then the rest of the room were already killing themselves laughing as Skipper fended off the desperate attacks.

"Outa the way, folks!" a 'big boned' man in a grey jumper shouted as he pushed through the crowd, gaining skipper's attention.

"Ah, Maurice," Julian called behind him, still glaring accusingly at Skipper, who had him in a headlock, "be getting de Santa Clause to be handing over his disapearingy presents!"

"Stand down, your majesty," Maurice sighed, seemingly used to this wild behaviour. Skipper gave him one last knock across the head just to make his point before releasing the no longer struggling airman, if he had any right to be called that, "It was just an expression, he ain't no Santa."

"Humph!" Julian sniffed, brushing himself off while it was obvious he was trying his best not to cry, "Do not be calling yourself Santa Clause and making a fool of yourself again. You might get hurt."

"I get hurt?! I make a fool of myself?!" Skipper exclaimed, storming towards the pre-emptively cowering man, "Now listen here mister…"

"Easy, easy," Maurice interrupted, holding out an arm, obstructing Skipper's path, "Cut him a little slack. Sometimes he just gets a bit carried away."

"I'll show him carried away!"

"Listen, I'm the man you wanted to see," Maurice interrupted, "One of the boys probably told you it was Julian as a joke. Now let's make an agreement in a more civilised manner," Maurice motioned to a table where Skipper reluctantly sat down. The Maurice motioned for Archie to pour them both another glass. Skipper had no idea what the other man was before the war, but he had a feeling it was a salesman; that or he was just used to down people who'd had any kind of encounter with Julian, "What can I do for you, Skipper?"

"How did you hear about…!?"

"Hey, I worked in intelligence for a while," Maurice interrupted, "That's how I landed barracks intelligence officer. It's my job to find this kind of stuff out, but it stays between the two of us."

"Alright," Skipper muttered, though he was already making a mental note to ask Kowalski about how to knock him off without giving Blowhole any excuses, "I'll need a couple of days' worth of food, wire cutters, an electric torch, civilian clothes, and if you have them, some papers – preferably civilian ration cards – and anything semi-automatic and small."

"Well, I can get you everything but the last two, and the torch," Maurice replied, "How're you gonna do it?"

"That was my second question. What do you recommend?"

"Stay here. You'll live longer."

"You know why I can't stay here, if you know my name," Skipper replied, "Spill it."

"Sorry, I've already given your friend over there," Maurice nodded to Kowalski, who was glaring a silent warning at him, "my word. And he's promised to use me as a guinea pig for his crazy experiments if I break it. However," Maurice smiled with a savvy, slightly devious, but well-practiced expression, "I'm not as pessimistic as he is, and I know you special whatever types, you'll just do it anyway. I'd just prefer it if you did it in a way that only gets you killed, by which I mean my terms."

"Stop wasting valuable time and tell me!" Skipper hissed.

"Oh I can't say anything about how _you_ could escape, I gave my word. However, I was talking to Roy the other day, and he was telling me about this tunnel that Rico was working on. In fact, he was working in it when they caught Manfredi and Johnson. Now they'd used the old tunnel, but the lobsters found the new one and filled it in. So, the old one is still under the floorboards under what is now your bunk, not a thing changed since Manfredi and Johnson dug it with a teaspoon."

"Under my bunk? Are you kidding me? Why there?" Skipper asked, then the realisation dawned on him. Maurice nodded, confirming his suspicion.

"Manfredi's bunk." Well, if Skipper had any doubts about escaping, they were quashed. He'd never admit it, but there was no way he was sleeping in a dead guy's bunk.

"How soon can you have the stuff ready?"

"Oh, I've still got… I've got everything you need handy, just say the word. There's a slight bloodstain on the shirt and a few bullet holes, but if you keep the jacket on, it shouldn't be much of a problem."

"I'm not even going to ask. How much will it cost me?"

* * *

Skipper was nearing the end of the tunnel. Mort, as he was told Julian's pet ankle biter was called, had oiled the hinges earlier on Maurice's orders to prevent them squeaking, part of the 'escape package'. He left the civilian clothes in the duffle bag tied to his ankle, both to silence the sound of any metal objects in the bag, and so, if he was recaptured Blowhole couldn't just yell spy. But he wasn't going to be recaptured. He was sure of that.

Now he was up to the most dangerous part. The tunnel ended directly under one of the watch towers, one of the few places the searchlights probably wouldn't wander too frequently. The last part of the trip was to run completely unprotected from the end of the tunnel to the fence, run another twenty meters across open ground before he got to the woods. Fortunately, he'd spent most of the night up until now timing the guards, the information Maurice had given him filling in the gaps. Due to carefully placed chocolate bars, the lobster supposed to be passing through the area the time would be several minutes late, and a magnesium flare going off a few minutes later on the other side of the camp would insure his and the other guard's distraction once he got to the woods.

Skipper raced across the stretch of ground, remaining unseen. He pulled out the wire cutters and was just starting to work on the fence when, almost as if they had been waiting to pounce this whole time, the searchlights swung around to his position. There he stood blinded by the lights and deafened by the noise, though still somehow hearing the snarls and barks of the dogs as they approached.


	3. Apologies and Principles

Skipper once again found himself in the spotless hallway that led to Blowhole's office, though this time, he was walking. If there was one thing he wasn't going to give Blowhole the satisfaction of seeing, it was him afraid. Well, maybe he could hijack a car or something; Kowalski had always said he constantly defied probability.

"Escapee's here, doc." One of the lobsters reported.

"Bring him in!" Blowhole shouted as if he'd been waiting on the edge of his seat since the day Skipper was brought in. The lobster opened the door and Skipper was roughly shoved into the office, his chains doing nothing to help his battle to stay upright. Blowhole wasn't taking any chances.

"Was that you doing a victory dance I heard from outside?" Skipper asked sarcastically.

"Ah, your bizarre penguin humour to the last," Blowhole smirked, "I really did admire you as an adversary, but you were inevitably going to lose. Still, so half-baked an escape plan was not something I expected from you."

"Yeah, well, it was worth a try," Skipper answered keeping up the sarcasm.

"Ah yes, but by attempting to escape…"

"You've told me three times, I get it already!" Skipper snapped.

"Hey, doc, someone to see you!" A lobster shouted from outside, "It's important!"

"Well I don't care if its Faraday back from the grave, I'm busy!" Blowhole shouted, although as his attention returned to Skipper his temper was automatically regained, "See, this is what I hate about running a prison camp. You're once in a life time, gloat at your arch enemy in his last few hours, and General so-and-so comes along and demands…"

"It's Doris, doc!" the lobster elaborated. As quickly as Blowhole had switched from furious to annoyed, he donned a strangely obedient expression, like a puppy dog sighting his master.

"You'll have to excuse me Skipper, this is rather urgent," Blowhole rushed towards the door, "Coming!"

"Well how about that," skipper muttered. Head of the POW camp that probably gave Buck Rockgut nightmares, and he comes running at the whim of his sister. Skipper had to say, it was slightly offending to his status as an arch enemy that Blowhole ranked his sister higher.

"On your feet!" A lobster shouted, bursting into the room. Skipper had barely acknowledged the lobster's presence when he was grabbed by his chains and dragged out of the office through the hallway and into the courtyard. He fortunately managed to stumble through the muddiest puddles before he was knocked down again, though by the time he arrived at the barracks he had two large welts on his forehead from his later attempts to walk, one from Blowhole's riding crop and the other from the butt of one of the lobster's rifles.

Outside the barracks they stopped, and Skipper was stood to attention in front of Blowhole, and a not too bad looking blond. Blowhole had the most fake looking smile plastered over a grimace.

"What's wrong, Blowhole? Supply train didn't bring you enough ammo for my firing squad?" Skipper cracked.

"Do me a favour and make a run for the fence," Blowhole snarled, though one look from the woman beside him and he was silenced, "That came out wrong, sorry," He apologised, "Why don't you go back to the house; I'll take you shopping for that dress in a few minutes," without a word, though the woman seemed to be studying him intently the whole time like a car she was thinking of buying, a somewhat mystified expression on her face.

"I don't see anything special about him." The woman commented.

"There really isn't," Blowhole replied, "He's just a trouble maker. It would be far more practical to simply…"

"Your jokes aren't funny." The woman commented, seemingly unaware of just how genuine the threat was, and with an amused smile in Skipper's direction, Skipper hoped she'd decided she liked him, walked back towards the office along the boards set down by the lobsters. Skipper let out a low whistle. No, she certainly wasn't that bad looking.

"Get into the barracks before I come to my senses." Blowhole muttered before following the woman back to the main hut.

Skipper could see a familiar silhouette pacing the room through the dirty windows as he approached the wooden structure. That guy worried way too much, "Hey, Kowal-Smith, you'll never believe the dame I saw…"

"You idiot!" was the first thing shouted at him, followed by a slap, which left Skipper stunned. However, he quickly regained his composure.

"What was that for?!" Skipper exclaimed.

"Trying to escape?! Really?!" Kowalski snapped, "Listen, if it wasn't for…!"

"Smith!" the door opened and a guard tossed Kowalski a clean uniform, "You have been given special permission for a hot shower. You have half an hour before your inspection and the doc informs me that if he finds so much as a speck of dust you will be shot. If I may say so," The guard gave him a wink, "I'd give anything to switch places with you."

"So would I." Kowalski grimaced as soon as the guard was gone.

"Wait, what have you done?" Skipper scowled, "You haven't sold out…"

"No Skipper," Kowalski snapped, "I agreed to go on a date with Doris, the girl you just met outside, in exchange for your life."

"Then what are you complaining about?" Skipper looked at him blankly, "You've been here over a year. I've only been here twenty four hours and I'd do anything to get five minutes with a dame."

"Well this might not be something you'd understand," Kowalski lectured, and then overcompensated for his outburst with a haughty kind of control, only just stopping short of clicking his heels, "But I have principles." He sat down on his bunk, reluctantly inspecting the suit the guard had left, "Dammit, Skipper, I might just make a run for the fence to get out of this." Skipper sat down next to him. He honestly didn't understand the principles his ex-second in command talked about, he never had and probably never would, but whatever they were, they meant a lot to him.

"I'm…" Skipper's fingernails dug into his wrist as he forced the single word out, "Sorry." There was no reply, but he could tell Kowalski was keeping his face turned to hide the grin on his face, "There I've said it. You'll never hear me say that again." He still got no reaction for several seconds. Then Kowalski turned his head, and true to Skipper's estimate, he was smiling.

"No I don't think I ever will." He laughed dryly, knowing full well what his friend had done. He'd never understand what Skipper had against apologising, it was unpleasant but not that bad, but Skipper hated it almost as much as Blowhole.

"What is it with you and this Doris you keep mentioning?" Skipper asked, his curiosity defying his common sense.

"She thinks I'm a celebrity." Kowalski replied wearily shaking his head, before replacing it in his hand.

"Aren't you?"

"Not. So. Loud, for the last time!" Kowalski hissed, looking up sharply to glare at him, "Yes, in the scientific community, I am, but if Blowhole found out…"

"Yeah, you wouldn't last five seconds under that kind of interrogation." Skipper replied as Kowalski pulled on his boots to follow the guard out to the showers, "Well, enjoy your date." Just as the door was about to shut, Kowalski stopped, fixing him with a solid glare.

"If you make me do this again, it won't be Blowhole you have to worry about."


End file.
